The words, so soft and pleading, washed over her. The temptation to spill her aunt’s sordid story clawed at Sophie. But the time wasn’t right. The secrets weren’t hers. “Can’t this just be about us?”
He lowered his head until he blocked out the world behind him. His mouth crashed over hers. There was nothing light and searching. This was bruising and hot and tethered by the harsh whip of desire. Lips crossed over lips and her hands slipped around his neck and her fingers dove into his hair. Their clothes rustled as they fought to get closer. Their mouths met and melded until she wondered how she had ever waited this long.
She could smell him, feel him . . . taste him.
Then he pulled back. Ragged breaths forced his chest up and down. With a hand on her bare skin just below her collarbone and the other slapped against the wall, his gaze searched her face. Her pulse sped up as his fingertips traced a circle against her bare skin.
“Do you still think we can separate our lives into pieces and shut out the parts you’re not ready to talk about?” His face stayed blank, but there was a twinge of sadness in his voice.
Until that moment she’d never realized she wanted anything like that. But the underlying question behind his words hinted at something bigger. Something she secretly craved. At age ten, her world changed from safe and bright to punishing darkness. Alone in her room reading under the covers about brave young girls solving crimes while her own world unspooled. Sophie knew the crippling power of devastating loss.
Her aunt and uncle, the warm home they’d built, eased some of the pain, but the fear lingered. Still, she owed them, especially her aunt, who had given up so much. Loyalty called and Sophie’s emotions warred inside her.
She tried to funnel all her will into making him understand. “We could try this way. Just see and go from there.”
His thumb traveled over her chin and across her swollen bottom lip. “I’m the wrong guy for that.”
She had no idea what he was saying but she felt the chill breeze as he stepped back. “Beck?”
“I have to get back to work.”
Thoughts and excuses bombarded her brain. Disappointment and a touch of anger played at the edge of her mind. She wanted to set aside the fear and call him back. She wanted to promise him something to restore his touch. Instead, she spun around and grabbed for the doorknob. Her muscles shook with unspent adrenaline but this time she yanked it open.
She got out and down the stairs before she realized she’d found the one guy on the planet who actually wanted some sort of honest commitment.
***
Two hours later Beck paced the kitchen, still trying to figure out the most inventive and painful way to kick his own ass. There were only a few more hours of sunlight so he had to step it up. Even now, dark clouds rolled in, warning of a storm to come. A poetic omen for today.
He was an absolute jackass. When a woman offered you uncomplicated, no-strings mattress time, you fucking took it.
Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he turned a willing woman away. Never one who looked like Sophie. Not one who kissed like that or made him so hard his balls burned.
Damn, his head still spun at the memory of that blinding kiss. She tasted and smelled and felt as amazing as he knew she would. There was no need to play fill-in-the-blanks on his fantasies tonight. Surviving the intensity could be the bigger issue. Many more scenes like the one in the library and he’d be confined to an ice bath for months.
Women. Strike that. One woman. One sexy, dark-haired woman who made his dick get hard and his mind go blank.
Now Beck understood what Declan had been saying about Leah. She stormed into his life and changed everything. Beck fought off that possibility with Sophie. He liked his job and the house was growing on him. It would give him a place to come back to when the work was done.
He’d travel and relax . . . and there was no room for Sophie no matter how great she kissed. At least not so long as she kept lying.
His pacing ticked up in speed. Sneakers thudded against the floor as he walked back and forth in front of the kitchen island. Declan and Leah had stepped out for a movie otherwise Beck would have had to hide from an audience. No way those two would have missed the slamming doors or the books Beck threw against the wall after Sophie ran out of the library.
His mind raced and the arguments against touching her again piled up. He’d lived his whole damn life with secrets and lies. Inviting a woman into his bed who possessed even more was nothing short of emotional suicide.
But all that common sense didn’t stand a chance against the need pinging around inside him. It had been that way from the beginning. She walked into the kitchen, surprising him and Declan, and declared her position as housekeeper. Beck’s brain had been scrambling ever since.
What a fucking mess.
If his brothers had just followed the plan—come to town, sign the real estate document for the house and get out—none of this would be happening.
Oh, well . . . He blew out a long breath and let his head drop to the side as he massaged a sore muscle at the back of his neck. Something pulled at his attention and had him. He could see two men in the yard. Squinting, he focused on the one who wasn’t Callen. Yeah, Beck knew the guy. Less than twenty-four hours ago he had the irrational desire to punch that face.
Tom Erikson, right there at Shadow Hill.
This day just blew.
Before he could think through the consequences, Beck shoved open the back screen door and let it crash closed again with a crack. His long legs ate up the grassy space between the house and the caretaker’s cottage.
Where was that momma skunk when you needed her?
Callen leaned against the porch post then shot up straight again when the wood creaked. “Does it all need to come down?”
“Not all.” Tom flipped through the pages tacked to his clipboard. “But you’ve got rot, missing boards and holes everywhere. This is a massive redo.”
“We want to save it,” Beck said. In the kind of move Declan would come up with, Beck made the decision right as he said the words.
Callen didn’t question. He scanned the first paper Tom handed him. “You going to remove the skunks?”
“Nope,” Tom said.
Callen chuckled at the firm response. “Not in your job description?”
“Definitely not.”
The scene was too familiar for Beck’s taste. Callen joking with Tom. Sophie eating with Tom. Yeah, Beck got the landlord thing. That didn’t mean he fully believed it or trusted the assurances people automatically coughed up about Tom.
But Beck had avoided violence his whole life. He’d dodged bullies on the playground and the kids who chanted shit about his dad. Then there was that one client on meth who attacked a bailiff. Beck had a front row seat to it all.
So, the rushing need to punch Tom in the face was not a welcome feeling. Especially when both Leah and Sophie seemed to like the guy. That called for a trip on the high road.
Callen gestured to their guest. “Beck, this is—”
“Yeah, I know. Tom.” With gritted teeth, Beck held out his hand. “We met the other night.”
“What happened?” Callen asked in a deceptively innocent voice that begged for retaliation.
Maybe Beck would get to punch someone after all. “Shut up.”
Tom waved them both off. “I got in the way of something.”
“It wasn’t like that.” Except for the part where it was exactly like that.
“Really?” Callen asked at the same time.
Time to shortcut the personal stuff and get back to the clipboard. Beck scanned the wide yard and series of falling down buildings lining the edge of the property before it transitioned to forest. “What’s going on out here?”
For a second Tom and Callen didn’t say anything then Callen jumped in. “Tom is going
to give us some help on the outbuildings and take a look at the main house to make sure we don’t have foundation problems there.”
“I do have a question.” Tom glanced around, his gaze stopping on the infamous swing set. “What’s with that?”
Callen swore under his breath. “No clue.”
“For some reason our grandmother kept the swing set when she bought the house.” Beck would have given more information if he had it. The swing set was just one of the many mysteries about the property, like how all the tools in the work shed were new yet their grandmother didn’t have the money to pay the mortgage for months and months.
Tom made a humming sound. “It’s in good condition.”
“We fixed it up.” Callen shot Beck the side eye while he said it, probably to highlight the broad use of we in this context. “The concrete pad underneath was new when we got here but the rest was shot.”
“Strange.” Tom’s hand moved on the clipboard in what looked like a signature. He unclipped the top sheet from his stack and handed it to Callen, but the attention moved to Beck. “You okay with me being on the property?”
Talk about a change in topics, but the deal meant someone else doing the rehab. It also meant Tom being on the property, right where Beck could watch him, rain or shine. That all worked for him. “Sure.”
Tom trapped the board against his chest with one hand. The dark sunglasses went on next, even though the shifting clouds made them unnecessary. “I’m not going to get in your way.”
No question what the older man was talking about. Or rather, who. Looked like Tom was doing some info digging of his own.
While Beck appreciated the protective show on Sophie’s behalf, he didn’t intend to play an unwanted game of you-show-me-yours with this guy. “I work upstairs, so the yard is yours.”
Callen laughed. “Yeah, because that’s what Tom meant.”
As if on cue, the momma skunk made her way to the front door of the caretaker’s cottage. She peeked her nose out, probably ticked off by all the talking so close to her nest. Beck applauded her timing but he didn’t want to be there for the show. “I’ll let you two get back to it.”
He turned, waiting for the distinct stink of a riled momma skunk. Instead, he heard Tom’s low voice. “She likes it here, you know.”
Beck froze. He shifted back to see Tom’s intense stare and Callen’s stupid grin. Beck could tolerate only one of those things, and even that one not for very long.
But he wanted to know what Tom meant. This was the first time Beck had gotten a sense Sophie could leave or that she might stay. He thought of her as being in such a state of flux that he never got to a timeline in his head that extended more than a few days ahead.
In the end, he went with the most simple response. “Excuse me?”
“She fits around here, in this town. I’m trying to convince her to stay in Sweetwater.”
Beck wanted not to care about the possibility or what it meant that Tom’s opinion might matter to Sophie. The churning inside him suggested the exact opposite of disinterest. “Her home is in Seattle.”
Tom shrugged. “People change.”
Not always enough, but still. Maybe Beck could take a lesson and be the first to give ground. And it all started with making Sophie feel safe enough to talk. “So I’ve heard.”
Chapter Nine
The next morning Sophie stood in the downstairs hallway at Shadow Hill and tried to mentally place all the members of the household without actually seeing them. She had work to do. She’d put off a full kitchen search long enough. Sure, she’d done the cabinets and all the obvious nooks and shelves. It was time to hunt for secret compartments and check under loose floorboards. Not an easy task because one Hanover or another always seemed to be in there grabbing a snack or standing in front of the refrigerator with the door open and mumbling something about a lack of food.
Forget a housekeeper, these guys needed a full-time cook.
She slipped into the target room . . . and froze. She stood right in front of Beck and Leah. Technically, Sophie mostly faced Beck’s back. He whisked eggs in a bowl as he stared out the window over the sink with a view to the yard.
“Good, you’re here.” Leah shuffled the papers in front of her. “I need your help.”
“I don’t think . . .” Sophie swallowed the rest of her words when Beck glanced over his shoulder at her.
He stared at her, not through her like when she walked into the library. But he didn’t smile. He kept whipping the eggs. Much more of that and they’d turn into a solid block.
It wasn’t until the kitchen chair in front of her flew toward her that Sophie noticed how Leah slouched down in her seat with her foot in the air.
“Did you really just shove a chair at me?” Sophie asked.
“That was my not-so-subtle way of saying you should join me.” Leah sat up and took a coffee mug from the tray in the middle of the table. She put it in front of Sophie and poured without asking.
The buzz of the kitchen distracted her. Something sizzled in the pan as the smell of butter rose. Her mouth watered and not just from the food. Seeing Beck move to the next task, slicing a loaf of bread, while looking all hot in a faded blue tee probably played a role in the fuzziness crowding her brain.
Rather than slip into the comfortable setting and giving into whatever Leah had planned, Sophie stuck with her usual response. “I need to work.”
“You can take a break.” Beck made the comment as he switched from knife to spatula, all without looking up.
Leah patted the space on the tabletop across from her. “See, Beck wants you to sit, so do it.”
Right. This from the same man who turned down a sure thing. No ego hit there. “He didn’t actually say that.”
Leah slapped six color photos in front of Sophie. She glanced at them before her gaze slipped back to Beck. He was whistling now. Flipping eggs and moving the pan around.
“Uh-huh. Earth to Sophie.” Leah stabbed her finger at the top of one of the photos. “I need your help.”
“What?”
“Which one do you prefer?”
Sophie blinked a few times at the change in topic before looking down. The photos trumpeted Sweetwater’s proximity to the mountains and the water. Each had a logo and photos of downtown and the park. Well, on some of them. Others had photos of the ocean and the historic Severn Motel on Main Street. Then there was one with a sign that said Rutledge Farm and Inn, whatever that was.
Tall trees, haunting ocean views covered by a layer of fog. Pretty photos but confusing in the context of a lazy breakfast morning. “What am I looking at?”
“Potential ads for Sweetwater.”
Sophie sat down and took a longer look at each photo. “I’m not sure what’s happening here.”
“You know I do marketing for the town, right?” Leah plowed ahead without giving Sophie time to answer. “Well, I’m putting an ad campaign together for travel magazines, most of them regional. I’ll use a version in online ads and for tourist sites.”
“Okay.”
“See, the plan is to lure folks here, to our stores and restaurants and all that stuff, during their vacation excursions. Have them love the place and spend money here.”
That sounded like a good idea, in theory, but Sophie had trouble figuring out the practical application part. “I really don’t think of Sweetwater as being open to new people.”
Beck snorted as he scraped the eggs out of the pan and onto a dish. “No kidding.”
“But everyone likes money.” Leah sat back with her arms folded over her chest, as if daring anyone to disagree.
Sophie didn’t. “I can’t argue with that.”
“Not that Leah would let you anyway.” Beck placed a small glass of orange juice in front of Leah then one in front of Sophie. The last one went to the empty space at the head o
f the table.
Leah waved him off. “You had your turn to be helpful and blew it. I’m listening to Sophie now.”
Between the homey breakfast scene and the bickering sibling-like conversation, Sophie’s head spun. Before she could point out she didn’t need juice, the conversation jumped again. The back-and-forth proved dizzying and more than a little welcoming.
“You already picked?” Something about the vision of Beck hovering over photos, studying them for Leah, made Sophie smile.
“He told me they all looked the same.” Leah ended her comment by sticking her tongue out at Beck.
He responded with a wink.
“Well, to be fair, they sort of do,” Sophie said.
Leah spun around in her seat and stared. “What?”
Sophie was about to explain how they had the same tone and all but two really popped, but she stopped when Beck shot her a wide-eyed, hand raised, finger slicing through the air signal behind Leah. Sophie took the hint. She picked the photos up and held them closer to her face. “Oh, now I can see them. Let me try again.”
“Women tend to plan family vacations anyway, so your view might be more helpful than Beck’s.”
The toaster dinged and he was off again, moving around the kitchen with ease even though his cooking choices were somewhat limited to dairy.
“Just being practical,” Leah mumbled.
He piled the pieces on a plate. “Funny how when you asked me to look you talked about me being so helpful because men wanted a say in family vacations.”
Leah made a la, la, la sound. “I can’t hear you.”
“Number four then one. Two and five look the same to me.” Sophie shuffled the other two off to the side. “These don’t stand out as much, and I don’t even know where this Inn is.”
Leah folded her arms and balanced her elbows on the table. Also let out a disgruntled humpf. “Well, damn.”
Not really the reaction Sophie expected. “What?”
Leah reached over and scooped up the photos. “Beck said the same thing.”
A Simple Twist of Fate Page 8